


Make A Move On Me, Baby, I Can't Be The One Who's Always Taking Chances

by teenuviel1227



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Football player AU, Jae is briefly mentioned, M/M, Smut and Fluff, Sungbri, cameos from other groups, maybe next time, referenced past jaehyungparkian, sorry I didn't know how to put everyone in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-25 18:02:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14384073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenuviel1227/pseuds/teenuviel1227
Summary: Star quarterback Brian Kang has never quite known what he did to incite the anger of football team captain Park Sungjin--but it’s senior year and after years of rivalry, he’s about to find out.Or the AU where Brian and Sungjin are rivals on a football team and one day, Sungjin gets Brian injured, and finally works up the guts to tell him he feels.





	1. You’ll Just Be Distracting Me, In A Good Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KIASK](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KIASK/gifts).



> I was going to wait until SungBri week but I’m an impatient person and life is short.
> 
> The title is from Stay Away by Rooney: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bkmf1T0V-Ls
> 
> CC/Twt/Tumblr: @teenuviel1227

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unstoppable force meets an immovable object.

It happens on a Friday, quick as lightning. One minute, they’re standing hunched on the field, the smell of newly-cut grass in the air, the sun high in the sky. Brian looks up, ready for the snap, ready to catch the ball as Jackson throws it back, ready to pass it to Sungjin who he knows is crouched behind him, eyes on the entire game--team captain, fullback. There’s an excited hush over the crowd as the game is about to begin. Anticipation, tension, excitement: all of the things that Brian has fed off for so many years, the rush that had gotten him into football in the first place, that kept him there despite its rigors. It’s the regional play-offs and they’re going head-to-head with the Crimsons today--their arch enemies from Harvard or as Sungjin liked to call them in practice _the mean reds_.

While Brian has always admired the Breakfast At Tiffany’s reference, had always wondered how someone like Sungjin (someone as mean to him as Sungjin) could toss a reference like that out so casually, like it was _nothing,_ he’d rather die than admit that to Sungjin’s face. Or to anyone. He can hear Sungjin exhale behind him, can imagine his forearms tensing, knows the line of his back and how it’s arched, muscles straining against the thick fabric of his uniform, the exact shape of him clear in Brian’s mind from having watched him in action for so long over the years. Rivals, teammates--in sports, everything is relative.

Especially with them. Captain and team member, fullback and quarterback, mortal enemies. All different names for the same thing.

The next thing Brian knows, everything is blur--a series of actions, a rollercoaster being propelled into motion until it’s its own force, unstoppable: that rush of adrenaline, his hands on the leather of the football and then the gust of air as it leaves his touch, legs tensing as he springs into action. Now, the feeling of bodies crashing against one another as offense meets defense, the rush of speed as he sees Sungjin pull out from under a huddle of red, sprinting for the end-zone. And then the rush as he shrugs more of them off, trailing Sungjin to make a play they’d done millions of times: one that Sungjin hated, one that won them almost every championship they’d ever scored.

Worst enemies, dynamic duo--whatever.

 _These fucking reds never learn._ Brian grins as he sees the rush of red heading for Sungjin like a comet. Sungjin is close but not close enough. He knows Sungjin sees him, can see the signature crease forming between his brows sure as sunrise--oil came apart in water, Sungjin frowned whenever he saw Brian. Brian is in the clear, runs in a parallel line, trying not to make it obvious, taking a few zigs and zags.

Sungjin meets his eye for a split-second. Brian stops running, waits for the pass.

And then Sungjin turns away, starts to make for the line.

_No._

Brian braces himself as one of the Crimson linebackers gains on Sungjin, cringes as he anticipates the catch, the throw, the ball being pried from Sungjin’s hands--but he doesn’t see it, because before he knows it, he’s being tackled to the ground, something in his foot snapping, the sound of bodies heaping on top of him a familiar pain with a new sharpness to it. He hadn’t been ready, hadn’t been able to brace for the fall.

For a moment: no sound, no light.

And then a shrill whistle, as if far away.

And then the bodies coming away, his ears ringing as air rushes back into his lungs.

Above him, their coach crouching over him, telling him not to move. And then there are his teammates--Jackson, his face streaked with worry, Chan, almost reduced to tears, Mark annoyed as the Crimsons do a victory lap: and then Sungjin, parting the crowd, that crease deepening between his brows as he tells everyone to hit the showers, tells everyone not to crowd Brian. Brian feels shame creep up his gut as the medics sit him up, all the time Sungjin watching him like a hawk, helmet held under the crook of his arm, dark hair brushed off of his forehead, slack with sweat, eyes intense.

_Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck._

“Is it broken?” He asks the medics as they move his leg, press down softly. Another flash of pain like lightning across the sky.

“Just sprained, I think,” she replies, helping him sit up. “Any dizziness? Do you feel like vomiting?”

_Not yet._

Brian shakes his head.

“Okay. Can you move your toes?”

Brian flexes them in his shoes. “Yup.”

“Can you move your ankle?”

Brian tries and lets out a loud shout of pain. “I can move it but it hurts. A lot.”

The medic nods, wrapping it tight, once with a bandage and then waterproof clingwrap before feeling along the lines of his shoulders, his spine. “Pain here?”

Brian shakes his head.

“Here?”

“Nope.” He raises his head, then, meets Sungjin’s eyes. _Why is he still here?_

“Alright,” the medic says, writing him a slip. “I think it’s safe for you to freshen up before heading to the hospital. Get showered, pick up your things, gather your bearings. I don’t think it’s broken, but they’ll want to make sure. The coach can arrange for transport--”

“--I’ll do it,” Sungjin says, piping up from behind her.

“Don’t bother.” Brian feels an involuntary scowl cross his face. He turns to the medic. “If you could give me the slip--”

“--I said I’d do it,” Sungjin says again, taking the slip from the medic. “I’m your Captain, I’ll take you to the damn hospital, Kang.”

 

By the time the medics wheel Brian into the locker room, all of them at Sungjin’s heels as he pushes the doors open, almost everyone else has gone home. The air is heavy with steam, humid but already beginning to cool. There’s a note from the coach on the bulletin board for Sungjin which he snatches up before Brian has a chance to peek at it. The medics lay out a non-slip mat, a tension rail for Brian along the wall closest to the nearest huddle of showers.

“Do you need help--” the medic asks, gesturing to the trappings of Brian’s uniform.

Brian blushes a shade close to the color of the Harvard Team’s uniform.

“I’m fine,” he says, voice coming out brash, strained, before he softens. _The medic didn’t do anything wrong._ “It’s alright. Thank you. I can take it from here.”

With that, the medic nods, leaving a bag of painkillers and a bottle of water on the bench beside Brian’s things. “Alright. Drop the confirmation for the hospital visit at the Sports Clinic no later than Tuesday.”

“Will do,” Brian and Sungjin say at the same time.

A beat of silence.

There’s a breath held in the locker room, tension strung tight between them until the doors close behind her, the sound of heavy metal kissing air as the springs pull the door shut--and then, like a trigger, they go off.

“What the **_fuck_ ** were you thinking?” Brian asks, voice sharp, loud in the empty shower room.

Sungjin sighs, throwing his helmet into his locker, pulling his jersey up and over his head, revealing his wide chest, the white fabric of his shirt soaked through with sweat. “I was close enough to make it to the line--”

“--you _know_ that’s a lie,” Brian says, cutting him off as he pulls his own jersey over his head, tossing it aside, the Yale blue stark against the gray benches. He catches Sungjin’s gaze, his eyes intense as they follow the trajectory of Brian’s jersey toward the rumpled heap in which it lay.

Brian feels his cheeks heat up, wonders for a moment if he’d been caught staring--and then he realizes his range is limited to the tension bar, that he can’t cross the narrow aisle to get to his locker, realizes it a moment too late as Sungjin is already leaning over, already shaking Brian’s jersey out and folding it neatly, setting it down beside his other things. Brian feels indignation flare up inside him and underneath it, a kind of keening, that age-old desire for Sungjin’s approval still so strong, even years later. He tries to keep his voice strong, tries to hold the anger in like a painter struggling for a specific shade of red even as water bleeds into his brush. He tries not to let the exhaustion and the very presence of Sungjin taint his tone.

“You got greedy. I was _there._ I was tailing you, I was ready for the pass. You just didn’t want to give me the ball because it was _me_ \--”

“--that’s ridiculous,” Sungjin interjects. “We’ve done that play a billion times. And I don’t want to be the one to point it out, but _you’re_ the one who got tackled to the ground.”

Sungjin kicks off his shoes, his socks, his pants. Long, strong legs, the swelling of flesh at the hips, the line of his torso.

Brian’s pulse quickens despite himself. He averts his eyes, thankful that the medics had helped him out with the shoes and the socks.

“So _did_ we win?”

“No.”

“Why, then, if the linebacker didn’t get to you?”

“We ran out of time,” Sungjin says quietly, making his way toward Brian, fingers already against Brian’s skin as he helps him lift his back up against the chair, holding him at an angle.

“Oh.” Brian tenses at Sungjin’s touch but he doesn’t stop him, silently begs his body not to betray him further as Sungjin undoes the drawstring ties by his waist, as he slips the pants down and off of Brian’s hips. Brian’s heart is pounding in his chest as he feels his underwear go down with it, watches in horror as Sungjin separates under from outerwear, folding it like its nothing before reaching a hand out to him.

Brian narrows his eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to help you, dumbass.” Sungjin rolls his eyes, hoisting Brian up from the chair, wrapping a strong arm around Brian’s waist, securing Brian’s arm around his broad shoulders. It burns where they touch, Brian suddenly dizzy, suddenly too warm. _Is this happening? Maybe I_ **_do_ ** _have a concussion._

“Look, Sungjin, I know you hate me, you don’t have to do this--”

But he barely has time to think because soon, they’re in the showers, soon Sungjin is turning the gear-shaped tap switch, soon water is hitting them both, Sungjin’s touch warm as he holds them both up to the spray cooling them down before the tap starts to heat up, the steam rising. Brian closes his eyes against the water, lets it soak through to the exhaustion in his bones.

“Put your hands on my shoulders,” Sungjin says, his expression still serious but softer somehow.

Brian obeys, not saying anything for once. He steadies himself against Sungjin as Sungjin reaches for the soap-slash-shampoo (none of them had ever been able to figure out _which_ the blue liquid was actually supposed to be) dispenser and pumps out a good amount onto his hands. He shampoos first Brian’s hair and then his own. His touch is firm, hefty.

Brian blinks as Sungjin runs the soap over his neck, his shoulders, his chest, his torso, his hips, that length between his legs that Brian is grateful doesn’t rise--at least not now, at least not yet.

“Can you rinse?” Sungjin asks.

“Yeah,” Brian says quietly. “Let’s move a bit to the left.”

They amble over a few steps, skin against skin, the silence between them a calm one for once. They let the water pour over them both: a cleansing, a washing away of something odd between them, some tension strung there.

“Sungjin?”

“Mmm?”

“Why do you hate me?”

“What?” Sungjin looks at Brian, then, holds his gaze steady.

“I mean--it’s okay, you can admit it,” Brian says, turning to face the water, closing his eyes against the warmth of it. “I mean it isn’t exactly a secret, anyway. My first day here, I tried to talk to you, you scowled and pretty much avoided me like the plague. You never pick me in skirmishes, always have some weird comment to make about everything I do: from plans to music I sing to the course I’m taking. I hear those little stabs you make against people who major in the softer things like Linguistics. I’m sorry we aren’t all engineers-in-the-making, but other things need to be studied too. When we both ran for team captain, I thought that that might change things. Like. Hey, maybe we’ll end up being friends, end up trying out for this thing together. But you just--you didn’t want to. You shot down all of my ideas, all of my plays, everything. When you won, I gave you a fucking congratulations card. And even when I saw it in the fucking bin on my way out, I thought maybe it was just a case of us not getting along or of you not being sentimental. But after today, when you gave up the game just so I wouldn’t win it, that’s when I knew: you must hate me if that was worth losing for, if that was worth giving up all the hard work we put in for.”

There’s a soft sound, one that Brian realizes he’s never heard before--at least not directed toward him. When his eyes open, he realizes that Sungjin is laughing softly. His smile is beautiful: eyes creasing at the corners, mouth lilting up toward one corner--a brighter version of his usual smirk. Sungjin runs his free hand under the water, splashes Brian’s face

Brian makes a face before reaching a hand out to cup the water and retaliate, grinning as Sungjin grimaces in surprise. For a moment, laughter rings loud in the locker room. For a moment, all that Brian sees is Sungjin’s eyes, the space between his brows smooth, his smile wide, the set of his mouth broad with laughter. And then, as Sungjin turns the water off, a slow retreat back into quiet.

Without saying a word, Sungjin helps them both back toward the lockers, helps Brian towel off--from leg to hip to chest to hair. He pushes the towel back, draping it over Brian’s shoulders before he acquiesces Brian to the tension bar. The letting go is almost tender, the touch almost soft. Brian is so confused. He tries to repeat what’s happened to them just now to himself and fails to come up with anything. A linguist at a loss for words.

For a moment, Sungjin turns the corner and Brian feels a stab of fear: what if Sungjin had left him here, stark naked and alone, unable to get to the hospital? The final prank? But before he can call out, before he can amble toward the wheelchair, he hears a voice from a couple of feet away.

“Combination?”

The rustle of clothing. A zipper being done up, cloth skimming skin.

“121993.”

The sound of a lock undoing, of rusty metal hinges swinging one way and then back.

“Christ.”

“What?”

“For one thing, your locker’s a dump. And also, never use your birthday as your code. That’s--that’s common sense.”

“Shut up.” A lock being clicked back into place. “It’s easy to remember. There are better things to use my brain for.”

When Sungjin reemerges, he’s fully clothed and holding a pile of Brian’s clothes. Brian feels his heart lurch in his chest, feels his stomach do a little flip-flop as Sungjin begins to dress him: boxers, jeans, carefully lifting Brian’s legs so they slip in without disturbing his bandages wrapped in the waterproof plastic dressing. Brian winces a little as he applies a small amount of pressure on his ankle but it’s nothing he can’t handle.

And then Sungjin is slipping a sweater over Brian’s head, guiding one arm and then the next so he doesn’t lose his balance. Brian blinks in surprise as Sungjin smooths his sweater down, adjusts the collar so that it fits right.

“Thanks,” Brian says, making to amble back into the wheel chair.

But before he can move, Sungjin stops him, holding a hand out to his wrist--firm but gentle, not an affront but a request. _Wait._

"Kang."

“Everything okay?” Brian asks, looking up at Sungjin.

A beat of silence. Eyes searching eyes.

“I don’t hate you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter on Monday. ;)


	2. No, You’ve Got Me All Wrong, I Just Wanna Kiss Your Lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught between a rock and a hard place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, I lied! Here’s the next one. Hope you guys enjoy.

It isn’t broken, but the muscle’s torn and Brian will have to take it slow, will have to avoid training on it so hard. No being tackled for at least two weeks, no jogging or sprinting on it for more than thirty minutes a day for the next three. Sungjin feels relief flood through him as the Doctor relays her verdict, doling out dosages of different types of medication they have to pick up, scribbling instructions onto some white paper before signing the clearance slip and handing them to Brian.

Brian asks the Doctor a couple of questions--mostly about how soon he’ll get to play again, if he’ll be able to make it for the next round of semis where they’d be playing the Brown University Bears for a chance to meet the Crimsons again in the finals. Sungjin lets out a sharp breath--annoyed at everything: the question (the answer is no, Sungjin decides--he won’t let Brian compromise his health; already, he’s running through the files in his head, the different profiles of the members of their team who can stand in for him during the semis), the fact that Brian had been the one to ask and not him (he’s Brian’s _captain_ for fuck’s sake), the fact that all of this had been Sungjin’s own damn fault in the first place.

“How soon is it?” The doctor asks, frowning as he looks up at Brian through the edges of her glasses.

“Two weeks,” Brian mumbles, staring at the floor.

“The answer is obviously no,” Sungjin pipes up from where he’s been standing, stiffer than Frankenstein behind Brian’s wheelchair, the events of the day haunting him like different ghouls from different films all trying to get in on the same ending--memory superimposed upon memory: the way that Brian had felt in his arms, the way that his skin had felt against Sungjin’s palms, the way that he’d looked at him through the steam, the warm water gushing against them, the football field, the grass beneath his cleats, the vision of Brian standing there in his blue uniform: a droplet of water swallowed up by a flame of Harvard-red.

A flicker of fear licks at his spine. He’d been so fucking scared that something terrible had happened.

_Get your head together, Sungjin._

Brian sighs. “Two weeks is plenty of time, I’m sure--”

“--he just said to not jog on it for more than thirty minutes for the next _three_ weeks, I’m sure you can do simple math, am I right, Liberal Arts?” Sungjin kicks himself inwardly, the words out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

“Yeah, asshole, but--”

“--I’m afraid that Mr. Park is right, Brian,” the Doctor says. “I wouldn’t advise it. It’ll take you at least a month to get better. You have to stop driving yourself so hard. Rest up so your body can heal--the sooner you’ll be back out on the field.”

Sungjin glances at Brian.

His eyes are filled with that mischievious twinkle, that amber sparkle that Sungjin both adores and abhors. He knows Brian will try, he knows that he will both do his best to stop him and his best to support him--goad him on to scold him to push him forward, knows that he will finally have to face the thing that he’s been avoiding.

“I don’t care if you try to stop me, I’m still going to train.” Brian unlocks the wheelchair, rolls out of Sungjin’s grasp.

“Christ, Kang.” Sungjin grins, reaching out to pull him back by the handles. “You’re going to train under my parameters and the coach’s. We’ll get you ready for the Championship but you skip the semis. It’s either that or I bench you for the rest of the season. Take it or leave it.”

Brian blinks up at him. Sungjin registers surprise, annoyance, hope. A slow grin makes its way across Brian’s face.

“That’s a rare offer coming from you, so I think I’ll take it, Captain Park.”

Sungjin feels his heart skip as Brian meets his gaze.

_Well, fuck._

For the past three years, this has been the bane and the light of Sungjin’s existence: what to do about Brian Kang?

 

 

The first time that they’d met was sophomore year at the recruitment party: announcing new players, new positions, saying goodbye to the older teammates who’d just graduated. Techno music resounded throughout the pub they’d rented out: too loud, everything seeming to reverberate, slightly off-balance. Whenever Sungjin thinks back to that night, he remembers it  like that beat--tripping: like crossing over an invisible threshold, out of a closet you didn’t even know you were in, or like walking off of the dark edge of a pool at midnight and plunging into freezing water.

Until Brian Kang had walked into the room that night in his graphic shirt and black leather jacket that showed off the broad line of his shoulders, dark denim jeans hugging the swell of his hips, his smile easy and eyes bright--the brightest Sungjin had ever seen--he hadn’t known what it was like to really _want_ someone. Sure, in highschool there had been the odd encounter here and there, there had been boys and breathless kisses, flushed bodies in the backseats of cars, grasping at buttons and zippers and latches--but there had also been girls and breasts freed from bras with the movement of thumb against forefinger, their kisses had been just as breathless, the love made clumsy with youth. They’d all been the same as far as Sungjin was concerned. It was a mutual benefit, friends in a transaction where the currency was pleasure.

It was different with Brian. It _is_ different with Brian. Back then he’d known, even now he knows--with Brian, to pay the price would _be_ the pleasure.

Back then, in that moment he’d let himself hold onto the hope of Brian, the want of Brian for all the time it took to down a glass of whiskey: the image of him and Brian out on a date, him and Brian at the movies, him and Brian pressed up against each other in the alley outside a club, maybe, where they’d escaped the hot and heavy atmosphere of the dancefloor for a moment to be hot and heavy with each other. Brian’s fingers running through sweat-soaked hair, breath hot on the hollow of Brian’s throat, hands pressed to the small of his back.

And then he heard a ring of laughter and there was Brian up on the stage, singing his heart out on the karaoke machine that they’d rented--his voice was beautiful--with pretty much everyone standing behind him, singing along: even people that Sungjin knew weren’t the type to participate. Seokmin, usually good-humored but a little shy, now flipping through the catalogue of songs for something to rival Brian with. Jungkook, intense and an incredible slotback but usually only candid with people he’s known for a while, suddenly draping himself over Brian, singing along into the mic.

Jackson clapped him on the shoulder. “Brian’s pretty cool, huh.”

“Sure,” Sungjin said.

“Oh come on,” Jackson had said--and for a moment, Sungjin was terrified that he’d been obvious, that everyone could tell the _thing_ eating  at him, that it was like a fire somehow and slowly gnawing at him from the inside out. “I know you wanna go for a turn on the karaoke machine. We all know you’re a ham, Sungjin. You don’t have to hide it. Mr. Karaoke King.”

Sungjin had grinned then, choosing bravado over honesty, choosing swagger over the possibility of being vulnerable.

“Whatever,” Sungjin said, grinning in a way he hoped would come off as both cocky and apathetic. “Let them have a go at it. We all know who the vocal king is here.”

“You’re so fucking savage.” Jackson laughed.

Sungjin smirked. “It’s pitchy at best.”

“Dude. Seriously though. I was so disappointed. For a bit, I was like. Hell yeah, he’s hot and I can tell, I’ve got a sense for these things--totally gay. Or bi at least. Pan, maybe. And then he went up to me and was like _yo, dude, my boyfriend knows you_ and you know who he’s dating?”

“Who?” Sungjin feels his fingernails biting into his palms as he clenches his fists, feeling envy build in his gut, feeling despair replace whatever brief hope he’d held.

“Jae,” Jackson said, bursting out laughing.

“Jae,” Sungjin repeated. “The linguistics major from LA? With the weird podcast where he reviews the opening credits of shows?”

“Yyyyyyup. That’s Brian’s major too, by the way,” Jackson said. “Crazy. He’s so damn hot. Jae’s so fucking lucky.”

“I guess,” Sungjin shrugged, finishing off the rest of his drink. “I think Brian’s luckier, to be honest. Jae’s cute.”

“Huh,” Jackson said. It rang in Sungjin’s ears because he couldn’t quite place what it meant: was it a judgement? A question? What?

“You don't agree?”

Jackson laughed. “Sorry, it just caught me off guard. I never hear you talk about those things.”

“Nothing to talk about.”

“Riiiiight. Alright. Take it easy, bro.”

As Jackson slipped away, Sungjin made the mistake of heading over to the bar: Jackson was right--he _did_ want to sing, he did want to have a great fucking time, but he also didn’t want to be anywhere near Brian Kang, didn’t want to touch him with a ten-foot-pole. Not if he was confident and perfect in a way Sungjin knew that he could never be, could never match--not if it meant feeling this _thing_ swirling around in his gut.

Not if it meant a chance of losing everything he’d worked hard for--because the thing about Sungjin is his ivy-league education wasn’t handed down to him, wasn’t served up to him like an invitation on a silver platter. He’d grown up back home in Busan, both of his parents salespeople who made a pretty good living--until one bad investment right as the market crashed in the year or so before the boom and they’d lost pretty much everything, a vicious cycle like a snake eating its own tail: debt to cover living expenses, making a living to cover debt.

Sungjin had worked his ass off: waiting tables, teaching kids basic math and science for extra income, teaching himself English, studying so hard it almost became like second nature to try and memorize, analyze what he’d read while he was doing whatever he was doing, whatever he had to do--by the end of his senior year of highschool, he’d made the CGPA he wanted, he’d sent the application out like a kite posing as a prayer: _please, please, please carry me off._

And it had, in a way. He’d gotten accepted on a partial scholarship--an aunt of his had fronted the money for his papers and his fare, his parents had pooled together their money to help get him the pocket money he’d need to settle in.

Our engineer. Our scholar. Our son.

Once he got to New Haven, the first thing Sungjin had seen to was how to increase the number of things that the school paid for.

He’d gone with football because the coverage was the largest and it also saved him having to think about his workout schedule. Mostly, what it took was reworking what he knew about soccer from back home, doing the work to be quick if he couldn’t be huge or the most powerful--at least not yet. His first position had been as a wide receiver: he only needed to be fast, he only needed to catch--after all he’d done, Park Sungjin could do that.

The main goal was to send most of his stipend back home. The main goal was to bring the people he loved up with him. The goal was not to keep running but to eventually become strong enough, broad enough to take them all with him: carry them on his back, raise them up on his shoulders. Wide receiver, tight end, center, fullback. Team captain.

He’d also helped pay off his parents’ debt: that last photocopy of  bank clearance coming in the mail like manna falling from the sky in the desert.

Maybe he would never have that ease, that charm, that charisma that Brian and so many of his other teammates had, seemed to inherently possess--but that was okay too. In a way, Sungjin accepted all his sternness, all his subtleties. They’d gotten him through the eye of a needle.

One of the first books he’d attempted to read in English (overly ambitious and maybe slightly stupid of him) was The Fellowship of The Ring--the single line that stuck: _all that is gold does not glitter._

But that doesn’t mean it never wanted to. Even copper can dream of being burnished amber.

“So I hear you’re the karaoke king around here. Who do I have to buy a drink to get you to come challenge me?”

Before Sungjin had known what was happening, Brian had been standing in front of him, big smile on his face, a hand reaching out for Sungjin’s forearm. Sungjin had jerked away--more violently than he’d intended. Brian Kang: eyes set to kill, smile wide, lips slick from beer or whiskey or some other dangerous thing Sungjin wanted just as much.

“Yeah, nice going, hogging the karaoke machine like that. You just ruined it for everyone.”

With that, he’d spun on his heel and walked off: out of the bar, back to his dorm room--in his mind, becoming someone Brian Kang would never want to talk to. In reality, becoming the one person that Brian Kang wanted to please.

Sungjin had walked away that night but the hurt and confusion that flickered across Brian’s face stuck: he saw it even as he closed his eyes and tossed and turned himself into restless sleep. Sungjin had never hurt anyone on purpose before; he hated it. When he woke up, the promise he made himself was a quiet one--he’d never say anything to cause Brian that kind of pain ever again.

Over the years, he’d played along with the push-and-pull accordingly: when he found out about Brian’s life story--the scholarship, living alone in Canada, the working three jobs, he’d held onto his promise like a tether or lifebuoy looking to lift him out of his guilt. When Jae and Brian broke up later that year because Jae had gotten a linguistics scholarship that Brian had been gunning for, Sungjin decided to start with the linguist jokes. When Brian tried out for quarterback after Seokjin graduated, Sungjin stepped off.

The one thing that Sungjin hadn’t counted on was Brian trying out for captain too. It was one thing to want someone from afar and a complete other thing to want them and have them near you all the time. It was maddening. Brian in the showers, Brian on the field, teeth gritted as he shoved, pushed--broke them both free. Brian leaning over his shoulder, suggesting a play. Brian making a joke. Brian who was not only gorgeous and shiny as Sungjin had thought but also calm and hardworking and an excellent quarterback. Brian who wrote him a note to congratulate him on being captain that Sungjin had loved so much he’d wanted to keep it in his pocket until it wore down to dust--but as captain, the first thing he had to do was stay unbiased, keep his head clear.

And no one, nothing clouded his judgement, his heart, his desires like Brian Kang.

Which is why earlier that morning, in a sudden flurry of panic, in an odd wave of anxiety, in a fit of realizing that this was one of the last games, that after this year, after everything he’d built, Sungjin Park, no, Park Sungjin would have to start again, build everything again, have to prove himself yet again, become someone else again, he’d seen Brian Kang, the most beautiful boy in the world staring at him wide-eyed, arms open and waiting: a blue dot of hope on a green field--and kept running.

 

The atmosphere in the meeting room is tense--the coach is on edge, is in a snippy mood. He’d called everyone out on their form from the previous game, taking their errors and putting them under a microscope: the offense ran too slow, didn’t push hard enough, didn’t take enough risks, the defense was sloppy, didn’t guard well enough, didn’t have any focus, didn’t knit close enough, didn’t reach far enough. The next game is a crucial one: if they lose, that’s it, they’re strapped with third place for the season. If they win, they’d advance to the finals to go up against the Crimsons again. The rivalry is age-old, bitter, cut-throat. The pressure riding on all of them isn’t just from their own pride but from the expectations of school mates, faculty, alumni. By the time the first half of the meeting is through and the coach leaves them to it, the entire room is so quiet that a pin dropping would resound like a grenade exploding in a cave.

Sungjin takes a deep breath as he takes the coach’s place toward the front of the room. He glances around the room--Mark is leaning against the wall, shoulders hunched over, staring at the floor. Jackson and Jaebum are picking at their nails, staring at their fingers as though they hold the secrets of the universe. Only Jungkook is looking up at him, that bold, determined look in his eye. Seokmin is sitting beside Brian, patting him on the back while Brian does his best to flick Seokmin’s hand away. Everywhere, glum expressions, postures of discouragement.

Sungjin runs a hand through his hair and tries for a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He tries to ease the tension in the room by letting out a low whistle.

“Well that was a hard act to follow.”

A soft attempt at laughter whispers across the room like early morning fog skimming the ocean. Sungjin glances at Brian who’s sitting in the front row--today, in a blue Yale hoodie and dark jeans, white sneakers, his dark hair swept back in a camel-colored cap. He can’t make out what kind of mood Brian’s in: not that volatile anger that he’d had a taste of in the locker room, not that set determination he usually had during their pre-practice pep-talks. Something closer to apprehension.

Sungjin remembers their parting words before he’d dropped Brian off at his dorm that Friday.

_Get some rest, Kang._

_Don’t take it easy on me, Captain Park. Please. I want to train just as hard as everyone else._

Now, he doesn’t meet Sungjin’s gaze, just keeps his eyes trained on Sungjin’s foot.

“So, as you all know, our star quarterback has been injured,” Sungjin says slowly. A murmur of commiseration shudders across the room. “And that’s terrible. An oversight on my part--”

Brian raises his eyes, then. A look of shock, of wonder at the admission. Sungjin proceeds.

“--I should’ve made the pass. I’m sorry, team--”

“--but it wasn’t your fault--” Brian begins to protest.

Sungjin holds a hand up.

“--let me finish. As captain, it’s my duty to put the team first, to pass when the play is to pass. Kang is a great quarterback and I know he would’ve made it to touchdown but I panicked. I got anxious. There were so many damn reds behind him and the one tailing me was quick but there was just the one--so I kept going when that wasn’t the plan. I’d like to take this opportunity to apologize. Nothing short of gold will be able to make up for that which is why I’m going to ensure that we get it. I’d like to ask for your trust one more time.”

He glances at Brian. A crimson flush runs over the apples of Brian’s cheeks. Sungjin does his best not to smile.

“So first things first. The last round of semis, as the coach pointed out, are a huge deal. I’m not saying this to make you guys nervous, I’m telling you guys this because I want everyone to be hungry, I want everyone to be lusting not for the thrill of the chase but for the sweetness of the win. I want us to play like our lives depend on it. And I want you guys to do that because without Brian--”--a shiver runs down Sungjin’s spine as he calls Brian by his first name, realizing that he’s rarely ever done that, has rarely allowed himself the indulgence--”--we are at a severe disadvantage.”

“You mean he’s not going to be able to play--” Mark’s voice comes in from the back of the room.

“--not this next game, unfortunately,” Sungjin replies. “But we’re going to be training and working hard to get him back in shape. For the next game, the coach and I have selected Jungkook to take over as quarterback.”

Jungkook slams a fist down on the wooden table. “I won’t let you down.”

Sungjin grins at that--the kid had always been passionate about the game, was a bigger football nerd than any of them present. “I know that. That means Mingyu, you’re going to be playing slotback. Yugyeom, lineback. I want everyone to look on the brightside: Kang and our batchmates are graduating this year. He won’t be quarterback forever. Here’s your shot, Jeon.”

Jungkook throws Sungjin a small salute. “Gotcha, Cap.”

A ripple of congratulations makes its way across the room, Brian included, reaching back to slap Jungkook a high five.

“Anyway, now that that’s out of the way. The coach and I talked about the finals--because we’re assuming that we’re going to win the semis, which we are. We know it means a lot to the graduating members of the team that this game be one for the books. We’re going to be taking Kang’s rehabilitation training into our own hands, under special care. I’ll be skirmishing with you all for 45 minutes as fullback and then Seokmin will take over--”

Seokmin looks up, the excitement lending his eyes a shine, a glint of gladness.

“--and I will be running drills with Kang because we want him back in full form by championships. I’ve put together a rigorous training program that’s been approved by the Sports Clinic and the coach. And when the two weeks are up, the coach’ll reevaluate his condition. It’ll be brutal but it’ll be worth it.”

Brian meets Sungjin’s eye, then, a look of wonder, of not quite knowing what to make of the situation crossing over his features.

“Thank you, Cap--”

“--I didn’t do it for you,” Sungjin snaps. “I’d do the same for any member of the team.”

Quiet pulses through the room. Sungjin ignores the eyebrow that he sees Jackson’s raised. _Of course Jackson sees through this._ He sighs, waves a hand at them.

“Dismissed. I expect everyone to be on the field tomorrow at three sharp, already warmed up.”

 

Getting back on his feet is tough, much tougher than Brian had expected--and he’d expected it to be hell. The past two weeks have been two of the longest of his life: Brian isn’t used to being _behind_ , isn’t used to being singled out unless it’s to lead, unless it’s to be told he was being awarded, isn’t used to being told, guided, _taught_. The past few weeks have been hell physically, yes, but also, they’d been a kind of heaven if heaven was an illusion you couldn’t quite believe was real.

There was something different about Sungjin: it lay between them unspoken, unacknowledged, but Brian knew that it was there, felt it tugging at him as they ran side-by-side, as they practiced drills, first slowly and then faster, more intensely. A shift toward softness, a willingness to engage. Brian could feel it the way that he’d felt his ankle snap during the game--and then slowly get stronger, slowly remember how it was supposed to move, what it was supposed to do. He sensed it in the way that Sungjin looked at him, that crease between his brows taking longer and longer to reappear like he was trying hard not to smile--and then trying hard not to frown.

When they ran for the thirty minutes that were allowed, Sungjin made small jokes. Small jabs of _god, keep up, Kang_ and _I didn’t know they let turtles into Yale_. The jokes were all Sungjin’s brand of humor: sardonic, ruthless, but they were said with a broad smile and the nudge of a shoulder--it made Brian’s heart soar.

And so he ran faster.

When they did drills, Sungjin held his gaze, passing the ball with everything he had, doing the drills as well as he could so that Brian wouldn’t feel handicapped, so that it would feel like a competition. The sun beating down on them, Sungjin’s sweat-soaked hair falling into his eyes as he tucked-and-rolled. The sun setting behind Sungjin as he spun and ran to catch the ball as it left Brian’s grasp. Sungjin’s smirk spreading like twilight across his face when he saw Brian falter.

_Is that all you’ve got, Brian?_

Brian. That was the thing that punctuated his suspicions, confirmed the shift between them the way a sentence was held up by a period. Not Kang, not _you_ , not _Liberal Arts_ , not  _Linguistics,_ just Brian.

_Show me what you’ve got, Brian._

And so he trained harder.

And then there was after: the part that Brian dreaded and desired more than anything, the thing that made him suffer more than the rigors of training, more than knowing that he would be seeing the semis from the sidelines--the showers. Most days, they ended later than everyone else: the intervals mandated he rest for fifteen minutes between every drill, their three hours stretched over a course of five. The locker rooms were usually quiet, usually hushed, usually cool as they undressed (the nakedness nothing new to either of them--but also, in many ways, the newest thing) and stepped into the showers, letting the warm water wash over them. Of course, now, Sungjin didn’t hold Brian up--he could walk, could function--didn’t touch him except to ask for more soap or to turn the tap on when his hands were too slippery with shampoo to turn the nozzle himself. But there was something special about those showers, something intimate about them.

For one thing, Sungjin talked: not like a captain or a scholar but like someone who had stories to tell and a person to tell them to.

Brian listened like the stories were gold and his pockets went on for miles.

 

Today, they’re in the showers, the entire place filled with mist from the hot water. Brian is taking his time shampooing his hair, not really wanting to rinse yet, realizing with a pang that this is the second-to-the-last of these quiet showers together that they’ll have, realizing that the coach’s evaluation is the next day and after that, things would be back to normal. He feels an odd pang of apprehension, a stab of fear that after this, Sungjin will hate him again--or pretend to or whatever it was he’d done for the rest of the three years that they’d known each other.

“So, yeah,” Sungjin is saying, turning his back to the spray of water to get the soap off of his nape, ruffling his hair with his palm. “Busan is a really, really great place to retire but if you’re actually going to go and live or work there while you’re young, I wouldn’t recommend it. It’s scenic, it’s lovely, but it can also feel really cloistering especially if--”

Brian dips his head under the stream of water slowly but keeps his eyes trained on Sungjin, letting the suds run over his cheeks, his shoulders, his back. “--if?”

Sungjin takes a deep breath, as if weighing what he’s about to say.

Brian raises his eyebrows as if to say _go on._

Sungjin meets his eye, that familiar crease forming between his brows.

“--if you’re different,” he says carefully.

Brian tilts his head a little to the left, curious, now. That’s something that he’d noticed about Sungjin: it’s almost as though he spoke in code, saying one thing to stand in for another, saying one thing to mean something else.

“You mean--different like me?” Brian tries, trying to take the pressure off of the question, trying to tip the balance, share the vulnerability.

“I suppose,” Sungjin says, nodding and then smiling faintly. “Yeah, like you.”

Brian grins then, feeling his heart fill with the trust, brim with the joy of being told a secret and knowing he’d keep it as long as it needed keeping.

“Did I ever tell you about what I thought about you the first time I saw you?” Brian asks slowly, wondering if this is the best time to say what he’s going to say and deciding that he doesn’t care.

“Is this about how you thought I hated you? Look--”

“--no, no,” Brian says, holding his hands up and letting out a small laugh. “I saw you _way_ before that recruitment party thing. I’m not talking about that--”

“--oh. When, then?” Sungjin takes more soap from the dispenser, runs it over his shoulders, his chest.

Brian bites back a smile, knowing for a fact that Sungjin had already soaped, had already rinsed himself off. _He doesn’t want to go either._

“--it was during one of the open karaoke nights at the pub,” Brian says. “Way before football recruitment season. I was stressed out about the coverage of my scholarship and looking for a way to get more out of my stipend. You know how it is. And then to add to that, Jae and I had gotten into one of our petty fights about nothing so I was just looking for somewhere to go while he blew off steam, looking for a couple of drinks to take the edge off. You were with Jackson and some other guys and you were singing an old song, something by The Carpenters--”

“--Close To You,” Sungjin says, the smile on his face broad, now, an unmistakable fondness in his eyes. “That’s my favorite.”

“Right,” Brian nods. “Right, that one. You were singing that and I remember stepping into the pub and being blown away--because what a _voice._ I remember looking at you, then, singing into the mic with your eyes shut and just thinking now _that’s_ someone worth singing against. Which is why night of the party, when I saw you there, heard from Mark you were on the team, I made a beeline for the mic. I wanted you to fight me--”

Sungjin burst out laughing. “--in a way, I did.”

Brian can’t take his eyes off of Sungjin now, the laugh illuminating his face, bringing a sparkle to his eyes. Sungjin pushes his hair off of his forehead, shoots him another smile, and something in Brian gives: a kind of resistance, a cord of restraint snapping under duress. When he speaks next, his voice is softer, shaky.

“Not the way that I wanted you to.”

Sungjin meets his eye.

“How did you want me to?”

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of rushing water, nothing but the sound of both of them breathing.

Brian’s heart is pounding in his chest. There are a million things that he could say in a number of languages--French, maybe, the language of love as it was so often called, or in Korean, their home-tongue, or in Italian with all the images of Venice under a full moon that it could conjure. In the end, Brian settles for something simpler but more precise, unmistakable.

He steps forward, close enough that the stream of water under which Sungjin stands soaks him too. Slowly, he puts a hand on Sungjin’s shoulder, letting his fingers slowly trace the curve of it before skimming his collarbone, palm brushing up against Sungjin’s neck before resting on his nape, fingers ruffling the soft, still-soapy hair there. Sungjin too, is moving closer, has a hand on Brian’s waist before either of them can quite register it, before either of them can resist the motion, is pulling Brian closer as Brian leans up toward him. Brian grins before pulling Sungjin toward him, letting his eyes flutter shut, the last thing he sees before the kiss a flutter of lashes over bright eyes, a familiar crease between brows, the hint of a smile, of a sigh.

 

It reminds Sungjin of the first time he was tackled on the field: a crashing into, hefty but in a good way, the breath knocked out of him by something with weight, an anchor to hold onto, a wave to let wash over him, take him away.

The kiss is both tentative and deep, tender but hungry, spontaneous and yet containing the force of years of restraint. Before he knows it, Brian's lips are parting, Sungjin’s tongue licking into his mouth, their tongues searching, exploring: the point of a tooth, the slip of a lip, the way flesh feels when it is taut, when the swell is held between teeth. Brian’s hands move lower, skimming Sungjin’s chest. Sungjin’s hold on him tightens.

Fingers running through hair, being pulled in closer and closer still--until Sungjin feels it, knows Brian feels it too, both of them rising to the other’s touch, the steam suddenly too hot, everything too slick, too inviting to resist. Brian moves a hand lower, lets his palm skim the expanse of Sungjin’s belly, the flesh tender but pulled over muscle still tense from the rigors of training, the hollow of his hip, the soft down just before--and then Sungjin pulls away, his hand catching Brian’s before it can land.

“Wait--

They’re both breathless.

“--I’m sorry, was it too much--”

“--no,” Sungjin says, shaking his head, leaning in to kiss Brian again softly, hoping it says everything he doesn’t have the vocabulary to say at the moment: _I haven’t been held in so long_ and _you have no idea how long I’ve run away_ and _I want you_.

Sungjin leans their foreheads against each other, looking into Brian’s eyes: those eyes with their fox-like tilt, the brown deep, haunting. Sungjin wonders for a brief moment if this is how he dies.

“It was--it was great. I just--we can--but after the game. You distract me, Kang Younghyun.”

Brian’s breath hitches at the vulnerability in Sungjin’s voice, at the mention of his real name, at the pain of restraint.

“I see.”

Something in his voice, in the way that his hand reaches for Sungjin’s, squeezes it tight, gives Sungjin the courage to find the words.

“See, if we started-- _that_ now, I wouldn’t be able to think of anything but you, of anything but _wanting_ you.”

Brian’s cheeks turn redder than they’d already been from the steam. He manages a smile, shy, before settling for a soft kiss on Sungjin’s shoulder before stepping away and turning the shower off, stepping out of the bath area.

“After, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter on like, Wednesday? Maybe. Or Tuesday. Something like that. ;)


	3. Your Friends & My Friends Should Leave Us Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Touchdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There is quite a lot of smut in this chapter. Not too graphic, but very risque.

Sungjin always had an image of himself as a boat rocking in the tumultuous tide--like the smallest amount of water let in would sink him, like to let his guard down the smallest bit would mean destruction, would render him a useless vessel, would see all of his hard work made useless. And then Brian Kang had shown up on his flimsy radar: a rapidly blinking red. _Danger._ A ship with his sails flung out, parting the waves, rocking them in a way that caused Sungjin so much anxiety, so much grief, the fear in his chest a sea all its own. 

_If he gets close, he’ll sink you._

For so long, Sungjin had lobbied the waves on his own, trying to part himself from that broad deck, the mighty masts that he both despised and desperately desired. From where he sat in a place he thought of as below, as beneath, as not-applicable, as non-withstanding, he’d always thought of Brian as his undoing--and then Brian had barrelled into him and Sungjin had capsized, discovering suddenly how beautiful the ocean was: how blue and refreshing and splendid to be rocked, to be moved without resistance. He wasn’t a boat at all but a diving bell--and Brian held the tether, reeling him in, pulling him up, higher, higher until he could breathe again.

Sungjin had thought that training with Brian alone would be torture--he’d spent the better part of three years actively training _against_ him, trying to train _away_ from him, after all--but it was the exact opposite: it was like being given rain when you’d been stranded in the desert for days.

The thing about Brian was that he worked hard but he was also funny, carried everything out with a perfectionism undercut by his humor, his charm, the ease and confidence with which he carried himself.

Even when he didn’t catch the ball, he’d look up at Sungjin and grin.

_Star quarterback does it again, amirite?_

And Sungjin would try and fail not to laugh, try and fail to be miserable, try and fail not to let some sunshine in. After the fourth day, he’d just given up trying. After the fourth day, he’d started talking to Brian in the showers: at first, nothing too revealing, at first only little things about his course, about his thesis, about some good times with the other guys on the team back in freshman year before Brian had joined.

And then somewhere along the way, Brian had started singing in the showers, had started belting out pop tunes (Britney’s Oops I Did It Again, Avril’s Complicated) from their childhood in an operatic way, drawing out the vowels, exaggerating the falsettos. And Sungjin couldn’t help himself, Sungjin had started to sing along too--and after that, the stories had gotten deeper: he found himself telling Brian about his family, about their situation, about how hard it had been for him in high school, how he didn’t think he’d _actually_ get to go to Yale. And he loved the way that Brian listened, loved the way that Brian told his own stories too: about his friends back in Canada, about feeling isolated and alone, living on his own for the first time when he was only 13.

It was all the cliches that got Sungjin in the end, all of the things that football claimed to be about: camaraderie, the spirit of fun, friendly competition.

The thing about Brian was that he treated everyone--himself, his teammates, Sungjin, the ball, the game, the ground on which they rolled, the obstacles around which they sprinted, the sun which bore down on them before slowly moving like across the sky, slipping into the horizon--like they were his good friends, like people who he already knew, people he cared about even when they’d done nothing to deserve it.

When Brian threw the ball too far, he yelled _Goodbye, Wilson!_ after it with his hands cupped around his mouth, his voice loud and ringing. When he lagged behind and Sungjin chided him, jabbed at him, tried to return to his old, sardonic self, Brian would clap a hand on Sungjin’s shoulder and call him President Obama-nim, the sudden slip into Korean honorifics, into their mother tongue, something like an inside joke, the reference to the former president they’d all respected deference that flattered Sungjin.

_President Obama-nim, I’ll do better next time--promise!_

_Shut up, Kang._

_Gladly, President Obama-nim._

And somehow, Sungjin found himself training harder, faster, better, much better than he ever had before. He’d come into this thinking that he was doing his duty as team captain, that he was doing this for Brian, to help _Brian_ get better--but by the end of it, he felt like he’d been the one to come out of it at an advantage.

Because Brian?

Brian’s just always been incredible.

All the drills passed, the coach’s evaluation pristine, cleared for the championships--not that Sungjin had had any doubt.

And then of course, there is a matter of the kiss-- _the_ kiss that Sungjin kept on turning over and over and over in his mind like a gold coin he couldn’t believe was his, couldn’t believe had fallen into his open palm. He kept checking to see if it was real, checking to see if Brian still looked at him that way when he caught his eye, still smiled like he was keeping a secret--no, like they were keeping each others’ secrets. He did, everytime. Not saying much, not alluding back to it in anyway except to clap Sungjin on the shoulder and leave his hand there as they walked into the showers, onto the field, out of the locker room.

All this is running through Sungjin’s mind as he takes a breath, lines up behind Jungkook on the standard I-formation for the beginning of the game: the last round of semi-finals, Yale Bulldogs versus the Brown University Bears. He glances at Jungkook’s tensed form, thinking about how alienating it is, how odd that it isn’t Brian hunched in front of him--Jungkook is more ripped, leaner, but also less broad in the back, also younger, more spry, more slender where Brian is swole, sinewy where Brian has curve, heft. Sungjin knows the outline of Brian’s posture before a game better than the back of his own hand: the way that he rolls his shoulders back before touching a hand to the earth, the way that he shakes his head, shaking out an old crick in the neck before he looks up, eyes front, waiting for the snap.

The number rippling as the fabric strains against his muscles

Kang

23

Usually, Sungjin would watch Brian get ready and then settle into his stance, forearms tensing, palm settling on the warmth of the earth. So today, that’s what he does too: turns to the right to see Brian on the sidelines, wearing his blue hoodie, grinning wide, holding up a foam finger. Even under his helmet, the facemask down in place, he catches Brian’s gaze and Brian beams at him. Sungjin grins back, hopes that Brian sees it--whether or not he does, Sungjin isn’t sure, all he knows, all he sees is what Brian mouths.

A single word, a promise.

_After._

 

Brian is tense the entire game, tense like he’d never been on the field: his heart is racing, he can feel his shoulders tense up, his neck aching on the left side. His hand inside the foam finger is clammy, cold with anticipation. The free one he’s taken to shoving into the sleeve of his hoodie. There’s something about sitting on the sidelines, about being helpless that is far worse than having to force yourself to summon the strength to run, to pull yourself out of a huddle.

The game is close, so close: they’re tied, victory or defeat only a point away, the clock counting down. They had the ball, Sungjin running across the field. The Bears had probably done their research, had checked out the Bulldogs’ previous games because they were all on Sungjin’s heels, were tracking him the way that water looks for crevices in the sand. Jungkook was running parallel him--and his form takes Brian’s breath away. He feels a small twinge of envy, wanting so desperately to be out there--but it’s overshadowed by a swell of pride because Jungkook is in full form, is running forward fast enough to catch up with Sungjin but slow enough to give the defense something to gnaw on. He careens and ducks, springs forward and then sprints just in time for the catch, Sungjin throwing the ball high, far, Jungkook running forward, jumping up to catching it and then hitting the ground running, sprinting for his life.

Sungjin goes down, tensing, bracing before the Bears tackle him.

Jungkook is still running, fast, fast, fast--the Bears’ defense gaining.

The entire crowd starts to chant, the Bulldogs’ cheer rising louder, louder--Bulldogs! Bulldogs! Bow-ow-ow!

One of the Bears jumps too early and the others follow suit, missing Jungkook by a hair, piling at his heels as he digs a cleat into the earth and pushes off, crossing over the line, tossing the ball down into the endzone.

The Bulldogs song blares through the PA system. Blue and silver confetti pop out from the bleachers, drifting down on the entire field. Brian jumps out of seat, yelling in victory, exchanging big hugs with his teammates on the bench. He shakes his foam finger so that it waves, wiggles so much so that it looks like it’s made of jello. And through the din, through the excitement, he sees the team lining up for the shake, making their rounds and clasping hands with the members of the other team. With the Brown Bears, it isn’t too bad, fairly civil--none of the snide joking and jabs that he knew would come during the shake with Harvard, whichever way the balance of victory tipped.

And then Brian catches sight of him: Park Sungjin, head high and proud, dark hair swept back, blowing in the wind, helmet tucked under the crook of his arm, his smile wide, cocky. Brian’s heart does a little shake, a little quiver, a skip in his chest. The memory of a kiss, of fingers running through his hair, of warm breath ghosting over his lips.

Now, they’re singing the school song. Now, they’re forming a straight line and moving away from the Bears. Now, they’re jogging back to the sidelines, arms out and ready to hug everyone. Brian makes sure to give Jungkook a pat on the back, a big congratulations. He slaps Jackson, Mark, Jaebum, Yugyeom high fives. Seokmin gives him a fistbump. And then the crowd parts and Sungjin is standing there, leaning his weight on one leg, head tilted to the side, a smirk on his face as he watches Brian meet his gaze. Slowly, the smirk brightens into a smile, the corners of his eyes creasing, a small laugh line marking its way from the corner of his nose down the slope of his cheek.

“Congrats,” Brian says, clapping Sungjin on the shoulder, not letting go. “Captain Park.”

“Thanks, Kang.”

They walk together in comfortable silence, everything around them erupting into chorus, the crowd cheerful, everyone running past exuberant. They follow the rest of the team back toward the locker rooms, both of them hanging back a little, walking a little bit slower than they normally would. And as the doors from the field swing shut behind them, in the darkness of the corridor, the rest of the team prattling on before them, Sungjin takes Brian’s hand from his shoulder and slips it into his own, intertwining their fingers. Brian grins, a flush spreading across his cheeks.

“I’ll just take a shower, Brian.”

“You can shower at mine,” Brian half-whispers, pulling Sungjin toward him by the hem of his jersey.

Down the hall, the cheers of their teammates in the locker room echoes from a crack in the door.

“What about the after party?” Sungjin asks.

Brian brings the tip of his nose to brush against Sungjin’s. “Well, I mean--we _could_ go or--”

“--wait here. I’ll get my things.” Sungjin’s breath catches in his throat. He takes a deep breath, gives Brian’s hand a squeeze before letting go and jogging down the hall.

 

And just like that, it’s _after._

 

“Make yourself at home.” Brian says, unlocking the door to his room and turning the lights on.

The apartment is small but cozy: off-campus, a cramped studio in one of the old houses converted into residential units.

Sungjin sets his stuff down neatly, takes his shoes off and leaves them by the door. Brian does the same before gesturing to the room.

“Well. That’s the bed. That’s the bathroom. That’s the desk and those are the books. That’s it. Casa Kang Bra.”

Sungjin cracks a small smile. “You call yourself _Bra_ when you’re in private?”

Brian rolls his eyes, sitting on the bed. “Not _bra_ like _brassiere_ , bra like brrrrrah like in rap or trap.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Sungjin says, pacing, trying to ignore his heart pounding in his chest. Trying to stay calm despite them both knowing what this moment _means_ , knowing that they’re finally here, alone.

Finally alone together.

Sungjin looks around, surveying the room: the bed on which Brian is sitting--neat if a little on the small side, the covers mismatched. The opposite wall is lined with stacks and stacks of books: a couple of dictionaries, some books in Hangul, a couple of novels by Han Kang, a couple of rows of Dickinson, of Poe, of Murakami.

Crammed into one box: Brian’s medals, a tangled heap of blue-on-gold.

“Did I pass the inspection?” When Sungjin looks down at Brian, he’s grinning up at him, leaning back on his arms.

Sungjin smirks, feigning fastidiousness. He lifts a hand, holds it level in a gesture of _so-so_. “The lack of bookshelves was a big factor.”

Brian laughs, the sound of it filling the room--ignition turned in a car, the engine revving. Brian gets to his feet, pulling Sungjin in by the waist, lips stopping short of a kiss, slipping his fingers under the fabric of his jersey, untucking his undershirt from his tight pants. Sungjin’s breath hitches, legs tensing, his arms holding onto Brian’s shoulders for balance as though he was in danger of tipping over.

Slowly, Brian presses a kiss to Sungjin’s temple, the hollow of his throat, the corner of his mouth. Sungjin’s breath hitches, the only loud sound in the room. His grip on Brian tightens as he pulls him close, pressing their lips together, kissing him deep. Brian smiles against him before softly nipping at Sungjin’s lower lip, asking for entrance.

Sungjin lets him in, Brian’s tongue warm as it meets his, the taste of him indescribable, a flavor all his own--Sungjin tilts his head, deepens the kiss, runs his hands through Brian’s hair, down his neck,  his shoulders. Brian’s hand moves lower too and this time Sungjin doesn’t stop him: he pulls the drawstring free, the velcro coming away under his deft fingers. He starts to palm Sungjin through the fabric, going slow, so maddeningly slow but firm, close. Sungjin feels himself stiffen, rise, feels the moan escape his lips before he hears it.

In a quick-step, he presses his hand to Brian’s ass, squeezing the tender flesh of its cheek before slipping a leg between Brian’s thighs, pulling him close. He grins as Brian bucks his hips, a soft whimper lodged in the back of his throat as he starts to stiffen too. With that, Sungjin parts his lips from Brian’s to suck on the thin skin of his neck, lick at the lobe of his ear.

His voice comes out lower, more gravelly than he intends.

“Shower, now.”

 

It’s different, this time--different than all of the evenings they’d spent undressing in the locker room, talking for the half hour or so it took them to wash off the day’s grime, to get dressed again. Tonight, they make a show of undressing each other: Brian not taking his eyes off of Sungjin as he pulls his jersey off of his head, tosses it onto the bathroom floor. He pulls Sungjin’s undershirt free of his tight pants, running his palm over Sungjin’s chest, letting his thumb graze the soft skin of a nipple that puckers under his touch. Brian kisses Sungjin soft, slow, torrid before pushing his pants off of him, watching in awe as Sungjin steps out of his underwear--strong legs, flesh over the terrain of muscle for miles, the length of him still hard, leaning heavy against his inner thigh.

In turn, Sungjin takes his time licking into Brian’s mouth as he palms him through his jeans, biting on Brian’s lower lip until it comes away slightly swollen, plumper, redder than before the kiss. He pulls at the collar of Brian’s oversized hoodie until it shows off the strong curve of his shoulder, the line of his collarbones. Sungjin tugs Brian softly back by the hair, sucking on the hollow of his neck until it bruises. Brian’s blunt fingernails dig into the flesh of Sungjin’s back as he reels from the feeling of Sungjin’s teeth releasing him, of his kisses running softly along the bruised flesh before finding his mouth: tongue against tongue, deep, heavy. Sungjin’s hands move lower, skimming the taper of Brian’s waist, the curve of his hips before he feels the button on his jeans come loose, the zipper being undone, Sungjin’s hands pushing at his jeans until they pool at his ankles. Sungjin moves back from the kiss to look into Brian’s eyes, to see pleasure skim over Brian’s face as Sungjin slips a hand under the waistband of Brian’s boxers, palm finding length, long fingers curling, stroking sword from tip to hilt, the touch of his thumb lingering.

“Oh fuck,” Brian says, leaning forward to kiss Sungjin.

Sungjin smirks, moves instead to kiss Brian’s ear, hands releasing Brian’s length, finding their place instead on the small of his back.

Sungjin nods toward the shower.

“We getting in or what?”

“Cocktease.”

Brian steadies himself against the wall, a part of him reeling from the sudden loss of pressure, his head spinning from the heat, the proximity, the sight, the feeling of Sungjin touching him like _that_.

Sungjin lets out a small laugh, turns the shower on. Brian shakes his head, steps out of his boxers and into the shower to join him. The stream of water settles over them, warm, soothing. Sungjin puts his arms around Brian, holding him close, kissing him slow. He can feel Brian’s heart pounding against his chest. Sungjin eases Brian softly back against the adjacent wall of the small shower area.

“What’re you doing?” Brian asks.

“Let me suck you off.” Sungjin says into his ear, voice breathless and hoarse but deep--more growl than whisper.

“Holy--”

Sungjin drops to his knees, then, hands on Brian’s hips, thumbs finding the hollows of his pelvis as he licks slow, feeling Brian grow harder and harder still against his lips before taking the length of him in, taking him in deep, the slide slow, slick.

“--oh god, that’s good,” Brian says, pleasure licking up his spine, rising to the tip of every limb before coming to pool in his belly. Sungjin starts to go faster, deeper, lips slick where they bury Brian to the hilt--the slick motions and cries of pleasure mingling with the sound of rushing water from the shower until Brian is spilling himself into Sungjin’s mouth. Sungjin lets off with a soft slurp, licking his lips as swallows before standing back up to kiss Brian again.

Brian is breathless, shaky from climax. Sungjin pulls him close, tentative, tender.

“You okay? Was it too much?”

Brian shakes his head, grinning and reaching for the soap, lathering it over Sungjin’s shoulders, his chest, the dip of his pelvis.

“It was perfect. Now let’s get you cleaned up so we can get you dirtied up again.”

 

Sungjin thinks that Brian Kang may actually kill him--they’re in Brian’s bed, now, only the reading lamp on, bathing them in amber light. _All that is gold does not glitter. But sometimes it does._ From the shower, they tumble onto the bed like they’re stars and in the sheets is a galaxy waiting to be formed. It’s a flurry of movement, the locomotions of desire: now, Sungjin pushing Brian onto the bed, now Brian grinning as he presses ear to bed, tailbone to the sky, legs parting, pleasure rising, cresting like a wave as Sungjin’s mouth comes flush with the place where Brian blooms and puckers, Sungjin’s fingers prying him softly open, tongue tasting, licking slick.

_Please, Sungjin. For the love of god. Just--_

_\--okay. Alright._

A rearrangement of limbs: Sungjin sitting back against the wall, a pillow behind him. Brian on his knees, straddling him, pressing kisses to his neck as they grind.

_Please--Brian--okay, I get it. My turn to beg. Please._

A moment of fumbling with the drawer, the shiny foil-like wrapping taking a while to tear between teeth, a moment of struggling to roll the condom on--and then entrance: gentle but firm, the pressing in slow, the movement introduced in increments until pain gives way to pleasure. Sungjin lets out a slow breath as a shiver runs up his spine from the warmth, the wetness of Brian. His fingertips draw slow, lazy circles on the small of Brian’s back until he feels Brian relax, ready for movement.

And then he’s caught off guard yet again when it’s Brian who moves--he rides Sungjin slow but deep, his hips bucking, the curve of his torso driving Sungjin mad, the swell of his hips almost too much to handle, certainly too much for Sungjin to keep his hands off of. He grips them tight, thumbs pressing into flesh. Brian has his arms around Sungjin’s shoulders, fingers clasped loosely by his nape as he savors the feeling of Sungjin inside him: now, hitting that spot just right, now lingering, dragging against it.

There is the sound of slick flesh, of kisses growing deeper, more desperate--names cried softly into slightly-open mouths, tethers to identity, to each other, in an ocean of pleasure. And then Sungjin is tensing, crying out, spilling himself into latex as he’s still inside Brian. The pleasure is a wave so overwhelming that Sungjin loses track of his propriety, cries out loud, gruff, gasping, bucking his hips for _more, more_ until there isn’t any. Brian holds him close, letting him ride it out until he’s still and sated and they’re back on dry land: forehead to forehead, staring into each other’s eyes.

 

When Brian tries to string together into a single sentence what being with Park Sungjin is like, he falters, tries again because he knows it’s worth it if only to relive their moments together, even if he never quite gets to a definition he’s satisfied with. The next few weeks go by in a flurry of moments like a reel of film imprinted onto Brian’s memory--Sungjin both the image and the light, the thing he holds close to try and see the story, wherever this is going.

On one hand there is the team: they train hard for the championships, the momentous last game against the Harvard Crimsons, both of them in better form than ever. Quarterback and fullback moving across the field in unison, each keeping an eye on the other, innovating their strategy, perfecting their play. This time, they wouldn’t slip up. This time, they would go for the gold. Brian writes about those afternoons as golden, sketches small cartoons of Sungjin in action in the margins of his journal.

A single word keeps coming back to him so he writes it down too, underlines it in bold blue pen: _incendiary--_ lit. flammable, capable of sparking flame; fig. provocative, stirring, arousing.

Because while there is the game, there is also their relationship: a spark-and-boom stoked into a blazing fire. They go to the movies, hold hands as the lights dim. Sungjin spends the night some nights. They fuck slow on what passes for Brian’s study table, Brian sat with legs wide, Sungjin scooping him up firm, safe in his arms as he thrusts lazily into him, enjoying the moment, burying his face in Brian’s hair, Brian’s neck, not building up to a climax but savoring the way that Brian feels in the here and now. Flesh against flesh as lips find each other--the light in the room always burnished and warm, the papers falling from the desk ignored, left to rustle.

After, when they’re warm and clean, dressed in Brian’s pajamas, they order take-out and eat it on the floor. Sungjin picks the food. Brian will eat anything.

_Maybe one day, you’ll have an actual dining table, Kang._

_Only if your promise to fuck me on it._

_Pinky swear._

They talk about everything: their plans after graduation--both of them looking to move to New York, Brian to look for an entry-level research position, Sungjin to try and find an apprenticeship that paid while he was reviewing for licensure. They grin, both knowing that hanging between them is the possibility, if not the promise, of making this work, of carrying this with them, of moving into the future together.

Tonight is the night before _the_ championship, the last game of the college lives. They’re lying in bed, Brian curled around Sungjin, an arm draped across his torso, their legs entangled.

“Do you ever wonder about what would’ve happened if you’d just asked me out?” Brian asks, turning to prop himself up on his forearms so he can get a better look at Sungjin.

Sungjin raises an eyebrow. “No. Not really.”

Brian frowns. “Why not?”

Sungjin shrugs. “It’s like football. It isn’t just about winning--”

“--HAH!” Brian says, bursting out laughing. “Says the strictest, most fastidious and victory-obsessed person I know.”

Sungjin flicks him on the forehead. “--it’s about winning too but not _just_ that. Nice ear for language, Linguistics.”

Brian snorts. “Fine, fine. You were saying?”

“It’s not just about getting there, I mean. Sure, maybe I could’ve asked you out back then but you probably would’ve said no because you were with someone else. And it could’ve affected how we dealt with each other in a bad way. I was also--I mean up until lately, I’ve been not great at expressing my opinions toward people...when it’s not rational but emotion-ish.”

“As opposed to now…? Emotion-ish? What does that even _mean_?”

Sungjin shoves the blanket at Brian’s face, laughing. “Shut up. You know what I mean.”

“Mmmm,” Brian hums in assent, leaning up to give Sungjin a soft kiss. “I guess. But sometimes I think about all of the time in between. Two? Three years? It’s so much lost time."

Sungjin rolls his eyes, tightens his arms around Brian. “We’ve got time to make up for it. Hate to break it to you, Kang, but I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good.”

 

It’s their last game as seniors, as Yale Bulldogs, as part of the same team. The sun is high in the horizon. Everywhere, there is a flood of colors--bright, vibrant reds and deep, royal blues coloring everything from hats to sweaters to banners to small bracelets, shoes, socks peeking out from underneath jeans. They’re all all walking up to the line, taking their places. Sungjin puts his helmet on, tucking the cap under his chin, fastening the straps before moving the grills of the mask down, securing them in place. One more game to gold.

He grins as he takes his place behind Brian, memorizing that familiar stance, the silhouette of Brian’s back against the horizon. Sungjin grins as he notes Brian’s small movements that he’s come to know over years of playing together, literally having each others’ backs: the rolling back of his shoulders, the small turn to the left as he works out the crick in his neck. Eyes up, front.

Sungjin grins, crouching, digging his cleats into the field green, a hand coming down to the earth. And then he looks up and Brian is looking over his shoulder at him.

Sungjin raises his eyebrows, a little anxious. The game is about to start.

 _What?_ He mouths, nodding toward the front of the line. _The snap is coming._

Brian grins, winks before mouthing his reply.

_Let’s give them hell, Cap._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for joining me on this journey. ROFL This is my first SungBri but it definitely won’t be my last. I’M HOOKED!


End file.
